The Roaming Ranger
by The Failed Author
Summary: 14 years after misteriously escaping his Vault, this Peach Creek resident became a wasteland legend. And now, woken and stirred by childhood memories, this legendary ranger sets out across the US Wasteland on a simple quest to find his friends.
1. Chapter 1

First of all i would like to thank jsypster1 for the idea. I would also like to say that i have no intention of copying jspyster's story Desolation Ed, and that the only similarity between the two is that it's a crossover between EEnE and Fallout. I can't help it...you can fit the setting of EEnE anywhere. If you are not familiar with Fallout, i suggest you check out The Vault Wiki and search for the things i name ( eg. NCR, Caesar's Legion). Check them out under Fallout 3 and Fallou: New Vegas, as those games are the setting of this story. Enjoy

THE ROAMING RANGER

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><p>War. War never changes. And still, 200 years after the nuclear war that reduced the world to a dried, mutated wasteland, people refuse to admit their mistakes. War is still very much extant. The war for survival. The war for power.<p>

The slave army, Caesar's Legion, bent on expanding their slave empire on the Mojave Wasteland, their greed and cruelty surpassing that of any fiend who walked the wasteland.

The New California Republic, intent on spreading their borders on the same land, in order to rebuild their strenght, much of which was lost in countless and costly conflicts.

And the city of New Vegas. The jewel of the Mojave, wanted by both.

But one man's war will stand above the war's of the rest. His personal war. His war with injustice. His war, his crusade to find his friends. This is his story.

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><p>CHAPTER 1: Hoover<p>

February 5th 2277

Boulder City, Mojave Wateland:

The wasteland echoed and trembled from the disastrous boom that rattled the late twilight day.

In that moment, it was as though every sound in the Mojave Wasteland ceased to exist after the orchestra of explosions and human screams began their terrifying symphony. It's audience was a large, menacing cloud of dust and stone. A terrible trap for the mighty Casear's Legion, now used to deadly result's.

Their best warriors now buried under the crushing mounds of earth and stone.

A NCR 1st Recon unit soldier lifted his head to survey the carnage. As the dust cloud that shrouded the dead lifted, he saw what carnage they inflicted upon the slave soldier's of the feared legion.

Bodies. Everywhere. Not an inch of ground was left bare as piles of limbs and pools of blood coloured the ground.

Bodies were tossed about by the explosion as if they mere ragdolls.

The tide had turned. He was alive. He won the lottery. They all did. The lucky few.

He glanced at his friends. Their faces were the faces of inexperienced soldiers thrown in a meat grinder. They were dirty, bloodied and burned from the seering sun of the Mojave Wasteland. They were barely soldiers, and yet they were alive. They had become warriors. Christened in blood and fire.

The first taste of blood is always the most bitter one.

Next to them the exact oposite. The elite Heavy Troopers with their fancy armor and miniguns, and their smug and arrogant behavior. The High-School jocks of the army. And the more friendly NCR Ranger's, the idealistic NCR soldier, clad in their grey military armor, grey rodeo jeans, gas masks and long bown dusters. Brave, resourcefull, strong and loyal.

Several call's broke the eerie silence of the battle. Amidst the rubble and bodies, a bloody one armed centurion rose, screaming for help and calling for his slave soldiers to come to his aid.

A sad and horrifying sight to see. There it was. A human being, yet he was his enemy. Killing a man that did no ill to him.

Most people at this point would freeze, there were many like that, but there was no time for pity or philosophy right now. Soldier's were trained to think about the lives they took later, and hey... this was the Caesar's Legion.

" Nothing but a group of cruel, mindless, remorseless fiends who only deserved to be wiped of from the face of this fucked up Earth. " was how their commander described them.

The NCR trooper rose his service rifle, ready to send the wounded centurion's brain on a free journey to the sand of the Mojave Wasteland. Just as he was about to pull the trigger, the centurion's head exploded in a horrifying display of human anatomy. A NCR Veteran Ranger did the job for him. A ranger this trooper knew all to well.

The commanding officer shouted, his mighty voice booming across the battlefield:

" Let's go boys! Escort these bastards to the gates of hell! ATTAAAAACK! "

Adrenalin and pride boiling through their veins, the 1st Recon Unit and the NCR Rangers charged over the sea of boulders and gave chace across the destroyed road after the retreating Caesar's Legion, towards the ocupied Hoover Dam.

Legionaries retreating over an open wasteland were a perfect target for the ranger snipers and the troopers. Some legionaries tried to shoot back, but to no avail. The snipers did what they do best. Their bodies were left to rot in the sun.

The Hoover Dam, was retaken after several hours of fighting after the demoralised Legion was routed and then picked of by NCR snipers. Seeing that their main force was blown to pieces, their officers and best warriors dead, the remaining Legionaries retreated, suffering many casualties, leaving the dam that their master so desperatley wanted.

Despite this herculanean victory, there was no rejoicing. The NCRs were busy with counting, and finding the dead and identifying them.

107 sons and daughters of the NCR fell that day at the First Battle of Hoover Dam.

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><p>A squad of bruised and tired rangers were returning to their camp, Camp McCarran, later that night after the battle. They walked slowly across the now empty Wasteland.<p>

Night was falling, and the howling of the coyotes in the distance did not even startle the rangers, who only continued their monotonous pattern of walking across the cracked asphalt road. In the distance, the welcoming and seductive lights of New Vegas beckoned any fool weak enough, or stupid enough, to try his luck at the tables.

That blasted city cost them 107 men.

None of them were in any kind of mood for chit-chat. They lost many friends and companion's that day.

Much of the eerie atmosphere of the night was broken by cheery songs eminating from one of the rangers portable radios.

" Heartaches by the Numbers " wasn't exactly the song you would want to hear when 107 of your friends and loved ones are now buried underneath radioactive soil, free for any grave robber or critter, so the radio was silenced.

One of them took it harder more than the rest.

The best ranger of them all. Stronger than a Deathclaw, sharper than a man with 360 vision and more resourcefull than 20 rangers combined.

When he first arrived, he applied for service for food. Soon they saw his prowess in battle againts raiders and fiends, despite his seemingly absent minded nature. He was a good shot, brave and eager to have a weapon in his hand. It wasn't to long before the rangers saw potential in the young lad.

" Not particulary inteligent, but he'll do... " they said

He, at 16, became the youngest ranger in NCR history. They thought him how to snipe, how to feed of the Wastes, how to thrive and survive. When there was a task to be done, he would be the first to raise his hand, thinking it as " adventure ", acting as if living in a post- nuclear wasteland, filled with mutated beasts and raiders was a good thing.

Nevertheless, at 21 he already became a veteran, knowing the Mojave Wasteland like the palm of his hand. Literaly. The Pip-Boy 3000 on his left hand was of enormous help, so much so that many rangers think that he " Got it easier then the rest of us with that fancy doo-dad on his hand. "

A living urban legend with 278 confirmed sniper kills, 504 with every other kill he made with any weapon he had at the time. A role model for every soldier in the NCR. A true symbol of a Ranger.

Yet, no one knew who he really was.

He arrived with a caravan of half-dead and starving refugees from The Capital Wasteland 14 years ago.

He was barely alive, like the rest of the caravan. Bloodied, dirty, sweaty, 5 of them dead, half their ammo spent fending off radscorpions, Talon mercenaries, bandits and other beasts of the unforgiving wastes.

He was given simple directions to the nearest outpost. Since he was a child he was given permision to have food and drink without having to take the NCR citizenship test. An act of compassion from an NCR Trooper.

Compassion. Something this legend stood to protect. Compassion for everyone who was suffering. Helping the needy and endangered. The creed of the NCR Ranger.

" Vanquishsing the evil force of doom upon us, like so many mosquitoes on a hot summer's day! " as he would always put it, flabergasting everyone in his vicinity who had the ability to hear. That was him. Strange and random. Unusual for a Veteran Ranger.

They only knew him by his nickname that he kept saying over and over again when he first arrived, along with hardly coherent babble about "Super Mutants " and " buddies ". He told him his real name, but no one really used it. His nickname was much more fitting to his character.

The nickname stuck. The ranger by the name of...

" Hey Lumpy... you O.K. buddy ? " one of the rangers asked the famed ranger. He had been silent for most of the walk back home, wihch was strange and a little unerving, considering the fact that he just couldn't stop talking. Strange for an legendary ranger, but, then again, he was everything but ordinary and, some might say, normal.

Stoping in his tracks, his ripped and dirty duster flowing in the wind, the ranger turned and sighed.

Removing his battered ranger helmet, revealing the tired, dirty and scarred face of a chinless, mono-browed 28 year-old Ed.

" Well... you know, not really. "

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><p>Please Read and Review.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2: The Thousand Yard Stare

CHAPTER 2: The Thousand Yard Stare

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><p>Three days passed since The Battle of Hoover Dam, and Ed still did not feel any better.<p>

He turned several small asignments, and spent most of his days in his tent, doing nothing much in particular. He would sleep, eat, read some comics, clean his weapons and walk about his tent.

Many began talking how the Great Ranger was throwing the towel, and that the fat lady was already warming up her tonsils. Loosing 10 friends in a single day was to much for him.

Other, the younger, greener rangers called him a " pussy " and showed obvious dissapointment that the ranger that they had heard so many stories about, a ranger they had looked up to, admired and aspired to be, locked himself in his tent and sulked.

Those who were in the battle with him, told others to leave him alone, as they did not know what it was like.

" Typical bullshit coming from a geezer with PTSD. " was a common insult to them.

Needless to say, many of those arrogant recruits who spent their paychecks on cheap New Vegas hookers and came back scratching their crotches ended up with more than just a nosebleed.

In Ed's eyes, he failed. He broke his oath. He did not save the people he swore to protect, the people he held dear to his heart, the people he loved.

He saw as one of his friends, Danny, tried to get up after a shotgun blast to his leg. It tore of his leg, leaving only a throbing, bleeding stump of flesh and bone. A Legion centurion smashed his head with his foot, while Danny frantically grabed his leg in a futile effort to survive.

He saw as Masha's brain splattered his helmet when a faceless sniper, so much like him, fired a faithfull shot that added poor Masha to his list of kills.

He found the blond locks of Brian among a red and black pile of smashed bones and torn flesh. The gruesome effect of dynamite underneath his feet. Poor Brian.

Ed shook himself from his comic as he buried his face in his tired, scarred palms. They were red, and had band aids around several spots. Boils, burns and whatnot. His right hands was shaking. The hand he fired with. Not good.

He did not want to remember anymore. It did not feel good.

It came to that point where he was basically whiping himself. He convinced himself that it wasn't his fault. It wasn't! He couldn't of done anything to save them! Right?...

Well... he was a crack shot wasn't he? He could have easily shot the Centurion that was burying Danny's face in the dust. He could have... but he didn't.

Was it possible that this... this Desert Phantom, this fright of every fiend and raider in the Wastes froze? Someone celebrated for his prowes, held high above all the heads in the NCR?

Well, he was but a man after all, unlike what many people thought. He was still a man. A great man, a strange and unusual man, but human nonetheless.

Ed threw his weary body upon his makeshift bed, dirty and smelly, as all beds he slept in are. He gazed at the fabric roof of the tent, and listened to the fumbling and talking outside. He drifted of in to his own little world, and spent many nice hours there, not a care in the world. No dead friends, just him and his own strange world, and a few people... they... might have been friends... in a time now seldom remembered, or visited in his dusty, murky brain.

People he... somewhat recognised but... not really... They were familiar, but they were mostly shapes. Shapes with distorted voices that occasionaly sounded like something vaugely familiar from his childhood. A childhood spent in a cold metallic Vault, amidst grey sterile wall and itchy blue jumpsuits. A cog shaped door with the number 95. Super mutants. His parents... mom... dad... dead...

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><p>A hard slap woke Ed from his dream, or memory, whatever it was. He was surrounded by wide eyed rangers and the closest to him, the one who dealt the slap, was an old war dog, his commanding officer, Colonel Harold Quincy O'Connor.<p>

" Are you aware that you have been screaming for five minutes straight? " O'Connor asked Ed with a stern face. A face he wore 24/7/365.

The colonel was an army badass. A Ranger since he was 18, he was Ed's mentor and teacher, who saw promise in the lad and thought him everything he knew.

He was a strict, but fair man. The type of man who didn't care if you were gay, ghoul, ex-raider or a fiend in rehabilitation. The only thing he cared for was how you functioned and your quality... and if you can kill a man while looking at him in the eye.

Again, a fair man. He was an imposing character. Thick like a double doored closet, ham fisted, a large and " awesome " , and a half grey beard that might as well of been a dead racoon glued onto his chin.

He was the closest Ed ever had to a true father. Strict but caring, demanding, but not pushy. A perfectlly balanced person.

" Ummm... erm, nope... can't say i am... " Ed answered, while he wiped the cold sweat of his brow. He stood and surveyed his surroundings. The rangers around him feigned disinterest, and looked around his room and then left the tent.

O'Connor sighed and shrugged.

" Ed my boy, come with me please... i have to talk with you. " O'Connor told him as he exited his tent and made his way through the base ( an old airport ) towards Camp McCarran Terminal Building.

Ed followed him. It was already twilight, and most of the rangers were either in New Vegas, sitting around campfires, or otherwise minding their own business.

Ed lazily made his way across the darkened base, not really minding where he went, so he knocked over an ammunition box or two. His legs were moving, but his mind was rolling in the dust somewhere.

When he reached the building, he entered the main lobby and followed O'Connor to the west side of the bulding and in to his office.

Ed sat on the chair in his office after the colonel gestured him to do so. He did so lifelessly, and then stared in to oblivion with a lazy, tired, unfocused deep stare.

A stare seen quite often among battle weary soldiers.

O'Connor gazed at Ed, seemingly aware the troubles Ed was going through. He gazed in to his eyes and found nothing.

O'Connor reached for a bottle of whiskey and poured himself some in to a small glass.

" Ed?... Ed my boy, you still there? " he asked, but Ed was vacant

" ED! " the commanding and demanding yell that O'Connor perfected shook Ed out of his unfocused sterility. He jumped from his seat and clumsily saluted, hitting himself on the head as he did so.

" Officer Edwin Horace reporting for duty chief! "

O'Connor snickered and cracked a small smile.

" Sit down Ed, I want to talk with you. Have you heard what happened to Caesar's Malpais Legate? The man who led the assult on Hoover Dam, Joshua Graham? "

" Umm... no sir. What? "

" Looks like the old kook Caesar ordered him to be covered in pitch, set on fire and then thrown in to the Canyon. "

" Hardcore... cool... "

" I can't see what's so cool about that. A horrible death. If i ever get in to that situation, God forbid, i'll blow my own brains out. "

Ed said nothing, he only tilted his head a little for no reason at all.

" I also heard you were the cream of the crop during the battle? They compared you to a deathclaw when it's young are threathened... "

" Really?... Cool... " Ed answered, feigning interest and suprise, albeit not very effectivley.

" If that was your atempt at apearing interested or suprised, you failed. Big time... I know what's troubling you... i can see it in your eyes... you have The Thousand Yard Stare... "

" The what now? Is that some sort of super power? Do i get to shoot lazers out of my eyes? "

O'Connor smiled condesendingly as if he was talking to a small, excited child.

" The Thousand Yard Stare... the blank, vacant gaze of a soldier suffering from severe mental trauma brought on by traumatic experiences during battle. And you have it... If im not wrong... most of your friends were KIA three days ago, right? "

Ed lowered his head. He began trembling slighthly, first his head and then his leg. He closed his eyes and gulped whatever was making it's way up his throath.

"... Yes. "

" Ed... this... this isn't you... You are our best man, and here you are sulking. I understand you feel horrible, i can sypmathise with that... i lost quite a few of my loved ones... people i cared for... "

For a moment, O'Connors gaze wawered downward, towards the old floor, and drifted of briefly into unpleasant memories. He shook himself and continued his talk with Ed.

" So i think you should take a few days off, ok? Go to New Vegas, walk around the wasteland, do whatever it is that makes you happy. "

Ed's head bolted up, and a small smile began to form. He had never been to New Vegas before.

" I'll give you some spare caps. If you do go to New Vegas, don't go in to the casino's or any houses that have red lights on them. Oh, and stay away from the women on the streets who are offering you a " good time ". Bring some of your weapons. Be carefull and... well... you know... don't do anything you may regret. "

Ed took the rather large sack of bottle caps and gazed at it with wonder.

" Sir, this is a lot of cash, i can't take it. "

" You can and you will. You don't even have to spend it, i gave them to you just in case you needed them. Do some soul searching, take your mind of things and stuff like that. Come back when you feel better. "

Ed once again gazed at the bag containg what had to be at least 5000 caps, sighed and smiled his trademark goofy smile. He glanced at O'Connor with sympathetic and thankfull eyes.

O'Connor smiled back. A smile of aproval.

Ed ran out of the main buliding as if he had a motor implanted in his ass, attracting more than one confused look. Happy like a kid at a candy store, and in most ways, he still was.

He entered his tent, put on his Veteran Ranger Combat armor, grabbed his Assult carbine, Brush gun and Ranger sequioa and more than enough ammo, and ran in to the Wasteland he enjoyed so much.

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><p>A small statured mercenary sat on a dusty crate near a half destroyed shack in the wasteland, the lights from Vegas iluminating the horizon with a splendid light.<p>

The heavy, dirty and worn leather jacket he wore came in handy this night. The wind started to pick up and it was chilly at night. He took a drag from his cigarette, iluminating his face underneath the black, dusty cowboy hat he wore.

He gazed at his Pip Boy 3000 to check the time. 3:34 a. m. They were late.

His feet, clad in thick, knee high boots rested on a figure tied in a large, dirty bedsheet. The bedsheet moved, and grunted in pain, indicating that underneath the bedsheet was a person.

The mercenary kicked the tied up person. His grunting annoyed him.

" Quiet... " he said in a coarse, slighthly gravelly voice. The person winced in fear, and then silenced himself.

The mercenary stood up, and stealthily reached for his 10 mm Submachinegun. There were several figures aproaching. He could clearly see six of them, and four were packing weapons. Two of the figures talked to the rest of the four, and they soon moved behind a rocky hill.

The two figures, one small, the other beefy and large aproached him. The merc loosened his grip on the submachinegun the second he recognised them.

" The hell took you so long? Lost your cocks in the desert or something? "

" Be quiet and keep your tounge to your teeth or you will loose both... now, did you bring the package? As agreed? " the small, skinny man in a black, white pinstriped suit asked, his eyes obscured by a black fedora.

" Yep... right here... had to break a few skull to get him... i want my money, don't toy with me. " the merc said as he pushed the man with his leg, rolling him towards the two men. The larger of the two picked the grunting bundle and threw him over his shoulders.

The man in the pinstriped suit grunted and threw a bag of caps towards the merc.

" 4000 thousand caps, as we agreed. Our... employer will be pleased with you. "

" I don't care. Ohoohoo... nice... very nice. " the merc exclaimed as he roled the caps over his fingers, relishing in his hard earned prize.

The men gazed at him with disgusted and arrogant faces. It was obvious that they did not enjoy the man's apparently unpleasant company.

The men glanced at on another, and then at the man, who was counting the caps with a greedy smile.

" We have another job for you... we will pay you even more this time. Are you interested? "

The mercs head shot up lighthing fast.

" How much we talking here? "

"... There might be as much as 10 000 caps in it for you. "

The Merc stood up and lost balance from the shock. He grabbed his head and inhaled and exhaled deeply.

Once again, smiles of arrogancy and superiority erupted on the faces of the two men, as they watched this man sway from his greed.

" We will take your reaction as a " yes ". We need you to take out someone who has been a thorn in our eyes for quite a while. He is rather dangerous, quite possibly the most dangerous thing that walked the Mojave Wasteland in recent times. Are you up for it? "

" I say... that this fella had a good run as " the most dangerous thing that walked the Mojave Wasteland... ". It's high time someone took his crown. Who's the guy? "

" He's an NCR Veteran Ranger... "

The merc showed signs of disagreement and hesitation, and his exciting smile dissapeared from his face.

" Well now... i have nothing against them... they are actually fairly decent people... but this time... i'll make an exception. What's the guys name? "

" Edwin Horace. "

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><p>I don't know... this chapter still seems lacking.<p> 


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